Three Broken Kingdoms-Book 1 of the Lost Continent (Completed)

Chapter Six: The Hawk Mountains

Above is the gorgeous drawing of Myra Isidore by Kishyie, one of the best artists on Wattpad (in my opinion).

Myra's Point of View

The dawn was coming. Myra knew this, even if she could not see the light from it just yet. She knew in her bones that the dawn was coming, in the way that she'd known from the moment she had seen Kestra, a baby, that she would burn the worlds to get to her.

Myra stood perilously close to the edge of the mountain, but she was not afraid at all as she watched the weak sun light up the sky.

A quiet happiness had been tucked in her heart ever since she had agreed to go to Azul. A quiet, sweet smile that she would occasionally stumble on. There was a burden on her, and always had been, a tension every time she almost relaxed, something so familiar she hardly noticed. She rarely forgot it, or loosened it, save during those happiest times with Kestra, or when Viktoria managed to get her drunk.

The burden was not gone, and it might never be, but it was...it was loosening.

It had been a long while since she had stopped giving everything she had to her kingdom, to nurturing an army to protect it. It had been a long while since she had done something for herself, since she had asked somebody else to help her.What a realisation, that all that you had did not need to be yielded to duty. What an indulgence, to choose a family and a daughter over a kingdom.

The wind whipped at her face, but she did not notice. The cold whispered to her, but she did not notice. She simply stared out to the sunrise, at its weak winter light. Her daughter would wake soon, and she might walk with her, might laugh with her, might tuck her into bed when sunrise at last become sunset without the swiftly approaching end looming over her. Her smile widened.

It was really a beautiful thing to let go of a part of that burden.

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The dawn was here, its pale tendrils slipping through the mountains. Myra was already there, on that training field, her fingers tracing the dragon-carved hilts of her twin blades. She'd sharpened the steel swords within an inch of their lives hours ago and then, still restless, she had entered the sparring ring.

Kestra was not yet awake, which meant the next few hours could be spent with a sword in her hand and the wind in her hair. Fastening her blood-red hair into a warrior's bun to stop it getting in the way, Myra stepped into the arena and was ever so slightly pleased to see that many of the warriors turned to watch the match that was to come.

"Who would you challenge, sister?" asked the valkyrie novice, tasked with organising the arena fights. Before she could answer, Myra spotted Rose Lisell, the initiate from yesterday, walk onto the field.

"How about her?" The Dragon smiled. She felt that the girl walked a little too proudly. Holding her blades gingerly, she noticed her opponent bore only a curved sword. The novice beckoned over a suddenly pale Rose Lisell.

Then the fight began.

Rose was surprisingly good, but Myra was a whirlwind of steel, her twin blades swift as death. She stopped being a person. Stopped thinking, stopped listening to the part of her brain that knew empathy and compassion and mercy and became. She became the desert sandstorm, the lightning and thunder of the sky, the wild crash of waves in the endless sea. She matched blades with Lisell, each move precise and beautiful and ruthless, and their swords came to know one another. Rose's curved blade was fast as an asp and unblinking; she wielded it not with the care of a craftswoman, but with the blunt practicality of battle, wielding it like a mace and making the best use of the curved edge.